Gail Bowen - The Endless Knot

“Boy, you’re good,” I said.

“Highly motivated,” he said. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely.”

As promised, the agent was waiting for us at the house. He let us in and agreed to come back in an hour. After the man left, Zack held up his cellphone. “Ms. Kilbourn, you will note that I am now turning this off. I hope you appreciate the symbolism.”

“I do, but couldn’t they disbar you for that?”

Zack gave me a wide smile. “Probably, but you still have a job.”

We took our time walking through the silent rooms. The only sound was the swoosh of Zack’s wheelchair on the hardwood. It was, as the virtual tour had shown, a solid house of big rooms filled with light, outdated fixtures, and endless possibilities. The indoor pool that was the house’s only noteworthy feature had been installed because the previous owner’s physician had prescribed swimming as therapy. Both the pool and the room that housed it were new and bleakly functional. Zack made a face when he saw them. “Looks like a high school gym,” he said.

“Taylor’s going to see those bare walls as a gift,” I said. “She’s been talking about doing a mural, and if a room ever called out for a mural it’s this one.”

“You think she’ll be happy here?” Zack asked.

“I think we’ll all be happy here,” I said.

“In that case, let’s check out the bedroom. Because the real estate agent says it’s neat.”

The real estate agent was right. Filled with the saffron light of afternoon, the bedroom was immensely inviting. I threw open the double doors and walked out onto the deck. “In good weather, we’ll be able to sit out here and watch the sun rise over the creek,” I said.

“So what do you think?” Zack asked. “Is this the one?”

I gazed across the water. “Hey, look over there – on the bank by that wolf willow – a beaver.”

“Is a beaver a good omen?” Zack said.

I rested my hand on the back of his chair. “No. A beaver is a beaver. But think how much fun it’ll be to have him for a neighbour.”

There was intriguing news from the realtor. If we were interested, we could purchase the lot next door. The current owners had bought it, intending to build a greenhouse there, but their plan had never materialized. As I paced the lot, I could see Taylor’s new studio taking shape. By the time Zack dropped me off at my place, the wheels had been set in motion.

“What are you going to do with the rest of the afternoon?” Zack said.

“Errands,” I said. “And there is no shortage of them. I’m going to pick up some photographs that I had framed for Pete’s new clinic and take them over to him, then I’m going to make a chip, dip, and pop run for Taylor’s party. After that I’m going to curl up with the background material on closing statements that Rapti sent me. It appears that the trial is winding down and I want to be ready. How about you?”

“I want to be ready too,” Zack said. “I’m going back to the office to ponder, yet again, the best line of questioning for Sam.”

I kissed him goodbye. “It’s going to be so good when all this is over,” I said.

“Yeah,” Zack agreed. “Especially if we win.”

Pete’s clinic on Winnipeg Street had been a pawn shop in its previous life, but Pete and his friends had given it a coat of paint to erase the lingering stench of desperation. The office now smelled of paint with a musky overlay of animal – very pleasant. The joint was jumping. School was over for the day, and owners of pets with problems were out in force. Pete had his work cut out for him. There were four boys with dogs of intriguingly mixed lineages, a determined-looking girl about Taylor’s age with a litter of kittens wrapped in a blanket, and an old man with a parrot in a cage. None of the animals was happy to be there, and they made their displeasure known. Despite the bedlam, Pete’s assistant, a university student who was volunteering at the clinic to polish up his resumé for the admissions board of the vet college, was cheerful.

“This isn’t as bad as it looks, Ms. Kilbourn,” he said. “There’s an organizational principle at work here. Believe it or not, everything’s under control.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Any chance I can see Pete for a second? I have a gift for the new office.”

“Let me buzz him. He’s just nuzzling two hundred pounds of English mastiff.”

“I’ll keep my distance,” I said.

“This one’s a sweetie. His name is Pantera – you know, like the heavy-metal group.”

“Actually, I didn’t know,” I said. “But thanks for filling me in.”

“No problem. They’re in examining room one.”

Pantera was splayed on the floor, grooving while Pete rubbed his belly.

I went over and stroked Pantera’s flank. “He’s a beauty,” I said.

Pete raised his eyebrows. “Do you want him?”

“Serious?”

“Very.”

“What happened to the owners?”

Pete walked over to the corner sink and began to wash up. “They dropped their mastiff off to be neutered and never came back. When I called, they said they didn’t realize how big he’d be, and they hoped I’d find him a good home. I’ve been calling everybody I know, but so far no luck.”

“If he’s been mistreated, he might be difficult.”

“He wasn’t mistreated,” Pete said. “He was just inconvenient. It turned out he was too big for his owners’ apartment.”

“Their apartment? What were they thinking?”

Pete shrugged. “They saw a mastiff on that TV show American Chopper and thought it looked cute.”

I bent and nuzzled Pantera. “If I didn’t have Willie, you’d be a definite possibility,” I said. I straightened and turned to my son. “Pete, keep me posted about what’s happening with this guy. Now, I’d better let you get back to work.” I handed him the package. “Here’s a present – some old photos of you with our dogs. I had them framed for your waiting room.”

“I’ll look at them on my break. Thanks, Mum, and don’t worry about Pantera. I’ll take him home with me until I figure out what to do.” Pete dried his hands. “Might be good for Charlie to have him around too. He’s obsessed with this trial. If Sam Parker’s convicted, I think Charlie will implode.”

“Maybe you should remind him that no matter what happens to Sam, he still has a life to live. That’s what Zack keeps telling me.”

“I’ll give it a shot, but I think the words would have more weight coming from Zack.”

“He’ll be at the house tomorrow night,” I said. “He promised Taylor he’d help with the decorations for her party. Why don’t you and Charlie come over and give us a hand?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Pete said. “Charlie’s not a big partisan of the human race, but he admires Zack.”

“Zack’s going to be anxious about the verdict too. He and Charlie can form a support group.”

Pete laughed. “I can’t imagine either of them in a support group.”

“Neither can I.” I gave Pantera a rub. “See you tomorrow night. Bring our friend here. Let’s see what Willie makes of him.”

Zack and his colleagues had spent long hours deciding on the witness list for the defence. To convict Sam Parker of attempted murder, the Crown had to prove, in the ponderous language of the law, that Sam intended “to cause the requisite degree of bodily harm coupled with the necessary recklessness as to its effect.” In lay terms, that meant the Crown had to prove that Sam was both cold-blooded and irresponsible. His temperament was key, so there were solid reasons for producing witnesses who would testify that Sam was a good and responsible man who, placed in untenable circumstances, had committed an act that was utterly uncharacteristic.